


The Kids from Yesterday

by a_case_for_wonder



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Dysfunctional Family, Multi, Team as Family, Umbrella Academy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-05 04:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17911700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_case_for_wonder/pseuds/a_case_for_wonder
Summary: On the brisk fall morning of November 4th, at precisely 2:36 PM, Luther Hemmick’s wife Maria gave birth to a baby boy, despite not having been pregnant only hours before. Around the world, nearly fifty other such mothers found themselves with similar such children. Luther Hemmick set out to find them.Twenty six years later, the members of Luther's Academy are drawn back together by circumstances larger than any of them understand - except perhaps one. The Apocalypse is coming, not just to this fractured former team, but to the whole world. Will they learn to work together in time to stop it, or will the dark secrets that lie at the heart of their history tear them - and the world - apart for good?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I have become incapable of falling in love with ensemble sci fi media without imaging various AUs for them, apparently. This one in particular latched onto my brain and wouldn't let me go until I started writing it, other WIPs be damned. (Can you blame me? There's literally an Angry Knife Boy, a Glamour queen named Allison, a spoiled, hard headed Special Son, etc.) 
> 
> I'm really trying to make the story my own this time rather than sticking really closely to either of the source materials. It's a love letter to both without really being either. I think it's gonna be fun! Hope you enjoy. Title from the My Chemical Romance song, because it's super fitting and also that felt appropriate.

#### The Beginning: 

Twenty six years ago, on the brisk fall morning of November 4th, at precisely 2:36 PM, Luther Hemmick’s wife Maria gave birth to a baby boy. She did not survive the birth, a result perhaps related to the fact that she had not been pregnant that morning - or indeed, more than an hour before her son came kicking and crying into the world. 

The boy, whom Maria named Nicholas in the brief moments before her passing, was perfectly healthy in every way. This despite the fact that his prenatal development had taken all of two and a half minutes. He was a good weight, with bright, dark eyes, strong fat fingers, and even seemed to be a mix of Luther and his late wife’s coloring. That might have been the end of the story, with the baby shuffled off for adoption or some such fate, but for a few key facts. 

One: Luther Hemmick was both a former Baptist preacher and a rather eccentric billionaire, a situation he would be more than happy to explain at length was not contradictory at all, thank you very much. His father had been a preacher in South Carolina, and Luther had followed in his footsteps at first, graduating from seminary at twenty and serving in a small community for a handful of years. Then he went on a fateful mission trip to Mexico. He came back with a “rescued” wife and a few particular ideas about science that quickly had him shedding his collar and racking up enough of a fortune to make him one of the richest men in the world. 

A second fact: Nicholas Hemmick was not the only child born on that day, at that time, in the way he was. It wasn’t clear just how many there were, but there were more out there. This Luther knew. 

As a former man of the cloth, it is perhaps unsurprising that Luther thought there was something divine about the birth of his only son. The conclusion he reached was perhaps somewhat more far-fetched: that his wife had been the chosen recipient of a new coming of the Lord; an immaculate conception for the modern age. When he discovered there were many children like his son, he wasn’t deterred. He realized what must be true very quickly - the children had obviously been sent from God to save the world from sin. And he, Luther Hemmick, was the man who would shepherd them on that path. 

(It should be noted that Luther Hemmick hadn’t preached a day in over twenty years at this point in his life, and indeed only occasionally found time for Sunday service amidst his busy scientific and business schedules. In fact, if you had caught him in a particularly candid moment, he might have revealed to you that he no longer looked for God in pulpits and pews, Bibles and song. Luther wasn’t looking for God to worship Him, not anymore. But he did own several churches, and surely that counted for something.)

Luther made a plan. He would look for any special children who shared his son’s birth circumstances, to bring to South Carolina. He would open a school. The organization he envisioned - and would indeed build - wasn’t a home. It was something of a cross between an old fashioned orphanage and a quasi-religious military training camp. He called it The Academy. 

He would teach the children, train them, guide them on their paths to whatever grand destinies surely awaited them. More importantly, he would study the children, discover what strange scientific or divine quirks might have influenced their origins. You see, Luther Hemmick wasn’t looking for a God to worship. He was looking for a God to emulate. This time, he was determined to find what he was looking for, and become it. So he set out into the world, to gather as many of the children as he could. 

He got seven.


	2. Chapter 1

####  Present Day (Twenty Six Years Later) 

The morning of November the fourth dawned bright and cold over the east coast of the United States, where fate was about to bring seven young people separated by time, circumstance, pride, and frankly, by choice, together once more. 

In a one bedroom apartment on the outskirts of Charlotte, Nicky Hemmick woke to exactly the hangover he’d been expecting - a bad one - and considered just clearing his schedule and calling in sick. Again. If he’d had his way, he would have saved the binge drinking for the day he was actually trying to forget, but as luck would have it, his birthday had fallen on a Monday this year. 

He really needed the money from today’s lessons, and if he was late to another day of rehearsal Chuck was actually going to kick him out of the orchestra. Or more likely, he’d just forget Nicky was supposed to be there at all and lock the auditorium doors. It had happened before. When Nicky had finally made enough noise for someone to come open the door, there hadn’t even been a chair set out for him. It sucked. It made Nicky want to burn his mother’s violin and scatter the ashes in the orchard with hers, so at least it would be with someone worthy of its beauty again. But he needed that paycheck too. His prescriptions were almost out, and the meager insurance he afforded on a musician’s salary covered approximately none of the cost. 

So instead of rolling over and resigning himself to a miserable day in bed, he got up and resigned himself to a miserable day where he at least made some money. He got dressed, washed his pills down with coffee, and headed out into the streets of Charlotte, violin over his shoulder. 

It turned out he had approximately eight hours to wallow properly before destiny - fate, chance, inevitability, bad luck, whatever you wanted to call it - intervened. When Nicky returned to his apartment in between afternoon and evening lessons, there was a red light blinking on his answering machine. The voice on the recording was one Nicky hadn’t heard in half a lifetime. 

 

***

 

Kevin Day had been good at many things in his limited lifetime. Running, piano, obstacle courses, speed-reading. Spending time alone had never been one of them. 

“Happy Birthday to you…” Betsy’s voice floated down the hallway from the kitchen to the dining room, where Kevin had been seated at the head of the comically large table amidst a spray of balloons he honestly wasn’t sure how the house’s android guardians had managed to procure. Did Betsy know how to use the internet? Was that...did she even need to use a computer, or could she just order things with her mind? 

Kevin was pulled from those musings when Betsy actually entered the room, balancing a tray with a single pink-frosted cupcake on one hand. She smiled warmly as she finished her song. 

“I know a balanced breakfast makes you strong, but I made you a treat this morning. Just between us,” she said conspiratorially, placing the cupcake down in front of Kevin. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” 

“Happy Birthday, my boy,” David said from Kevin’s other side, clapping a hand heavily onto his shoulder. One of these days Kevin was going to stop expecting it to feel like flesh. 

“Thanks, Coach,” Kevin said. “Thanks, Betsy. You, uh, don’t have to stick around, if you don’t want.” 

Betsy stroked an electrically warmed hand over his cheek. “Allright. Let us know if you need anything.” 

“Of course. Thank you.” 

Another thing Kevin was not terribly good at was asking for things when he needed them. It was difficult to say if this was a nuance that could be worked out by an android, even ones as good as these, but there may have been a doubtful cast to David’s expression as he followed Betsy from the room. If there was, Kevin didn’t turn to see it. 

He realized belatedly that the candle in the cupcake was still burning, and blew it out. He knew the cupcake was strawberry without biting it. Betsy’s cupcakes were always strawberry. Someone had said it was their favorite, at some point, and it had stuck. Kevin didn’t mind. He barely tasted it anyway, chewing through soft cake and sticky frosting the same mechanical way he’d chewed through most meals for the past ten years, and possibly most of the years before that. 

There was a thunderstorm gathering outside. Odd for November in the northeast, but not unheard of. And besides, Kevin had grown up in a boarding school for the superhuman, and had continued to live there when he’d inherited the property from its dead proprietor at the tender age of eighteen. Odd was a matter of degrees. So he ate his cupcake, and he listened for the telltale swish of Betsy’s skirts in the kitchen, and David running drills by himself in the gym, and tried to ignore the occasional flashes of lightning, even as they gathered into a crescendoing hum loud enough to rattle the stained glass windows of the Academy.

A boom of thunder and lighting seemed to come from directly overhead. Kevin jumped, then pushed out of his chair, irritated enough to investigate. If he suspected anything was amiss with the storm, he pretended not to. Still, surely he should at least check the courtyard and make sure none of the trees had fallen into the building. 

None of the trees had fallen, but there was something new in the courtyard when Kevin looked. Or rather something old. Someone old. Someone who hadn’t been there in thirteen years, and was now blinking at Kevin through the downpour, tugging at the sleeves of a worn navy blazer. 

“Master Day, is everything alright?” David’s voice called from behind Kevin. “That last lightning strike sounded strange and I think we should check that-” he pulled up short beside Kevin. “Oh. Oh my.” 

 

***

 

Allison Reynolds was born to live in New York City. Sharp tongued, sharp witted, and capable of walking impressive distances in heels, she’d been running a small fashion line for three years when her break had finally come: Fashion Week wanted her. Sure, it was a group showcase, but a NYFW runway was a NYFW runway. They wanted her for the spring, which meant that by November she was already in a seemingly endless cycle of meetings about venues, themes, decorations, guest lists. 

She wished she could just send an assistant to all of them. She didn’t want to sit in stuffy conference rooms while men who had never worn a proper dress shoe nervously tried to explain lighting systems to her. It was just embarrassing for the both of them. And anyway, they knew how to do their jobs, that was what they were being paid for. This wasn’t Calvin Klein Milan - there weren’t going to be flaming motorcycles, just good clothes. Allison didn’t want to be concerned with it. She wanted to be in her studio, combing archives for shreds of fresh inspiration, obsessing over color and texture, dreaming up ways to make her looks comfortable and wearable as they were striking. 

So she’d gotten herself a birthday present: one day with no meetings. Claudia could handle her calls. For 24 precious hours, Allison would lock herself in her studio and refuse to be interrupted. She needed at least three new formal men’s looks by next week, and everyone seemed to want her to do goddamn blazers. Allison did not do blazers. Which meant she needed something else. Corsets, maybe. 

She was trying to decide whether she could make a corset look work with the pants she’d already designed or if they would have to switch to skirts when her doorbell rang. Allison stopped, slowly lowering a pencil. Her schedule was supposed to have been cleared. Her phone had already rung once, so she’d unplugged it. If someone really needed her, they could call the building. Mark knew how high her threshold for disturbances was. She marched to the buzzer panel. 

“Whoever you are, I am not accepting visitors, interested in buying anything, or looking for interns. Go away before I call security.” 

She had barely settled back at her desk when there was a soft knock at the door. The nerve of some people, honestly. She was going to have to have a talk with Mark. This time, she didn't even bother to get up.

“I wasn’t kidding about calling security. I suggest you leave before-”

The knock came again, louder this time. But also, in a pattern. Three knocks, then two, then three again. A pause. The pattern repeated. Allison hadn’t heard that particular pattern in a full decade, but the soft signal of one’s best friend in the world knocking at the door isn’t the sort of thing that is easily forgotten. 

Renee’s hair was lighter than Allison remembered it, nearly white and fading into soft lavender near the tips. She looked so much older than Allison remembered. She wondered if she herself had changed so much, if she hoped she had or not. She ushered Renee into the small seating area silently, drinking the sight of her in. There was a tattoo behind her ear Allison didn’t get a good look at but didn’t remember. Her hands were red and chapped. That same gold cross hung around her neck. Her dark eyes looked like maybe she’d been crying, or trying not to. 

“Happy Birthday,” Renee said softly. 

“Yeah. You too.” 

“You need to come back to the Academy.” 

It just might have been that Renee Walker was the only person on earth Allison wouldn’t have immediately punched in the face for suggesting such a thing. It also might have been that Renee knew that. 

“I have meetings all week,” Allison said, instead of saying no. Instead of asking why. “And all of next week, for that matter. I’m making it.” She stuck her chin out proudly. 

“I know,” Renee said. Her smile was sad. “That’s why we need your help.” 

 

***

 

Aaron Minyard spent most of his twenty sixth birthday in rehab, because thirty days ago that was where his brother and his ex had conspired to put him. The best thing that could be said about rehab, in his case, was at least the bad food and worse group therapy was going on someone else’s bill. It is possible, of course, for rehab to genuinely help people struggling with addiction. Generally speaking though, this only works if the person has an actual desire to recover, rather than an active desire to simply survive until they can once more get as un-sober as humanly possible, which was what Aaron was doing. 

The second best thing about rehab was that not an awful lot of people had died there, and most addicts and/or orderlies weren’t murderers with ghosts nipping at their heels. That wasn’t to say addicts didn’t have ghosts - on the fucking contrary - just that they usually left Aaron alone. 

The third best thing about rehab was that he was allowed to sign himself out once the thirty days were up, no babysitter required. It was even still light out, although it was raining something awful, which left plenty of time to pick a few pockets, find his dealer exactly where he’d left him, and proceed to get absolutely fucked out of his mind in celebration. No ghosts, even on the supremely fucking haunted streets of Colombia. Happy Birthday to him. 

 

***

 

In a dark house on a run down street in a dusty corner of Colombia, Andrew Minyard hadn’t even taken off his bloodied clothing when his phone rang. The blackout curtains make it feel like night, but if Andrew had bothered to open them the house would have been washed through the the grey light of the mid-morning storm. He didn’t. He had been up all night, and he wanted to go to bed. He wanted his phone to stop ringing. 

Whoever was calling gave up when the answering machine picked up, then called back a minute later. Andrew acknowledged their persistence by removing the phone from its hook and letting it dangle near the floor. Terror poked her head out of one of her usual hiding places to bat a paw at it. Andrew reached a hand down to scratch at her ears before she darted away again, her black fur blending into the shadows. The phone could stay off the hook for a while. With Aaron tucked safe away in rehab for at least a few more hours, Andrew didn’t see who could possibly be calling him that would be more important than a hot shower, cleaning his knives, and getting some goddamn sleep.

He shucked out of his gear, tossing the bloodiest bits around the corner into the kitchen sink without looking. The shower felt good. Whoever was on the phone must have finally decided to let him finish his day in peace, because when he hung it back on its hook it didn’t ring again. 

The police detective who showed up at his door a few hours later wasn’t nearly as polite. 

“Come on Turner, I thought we had an understanding,” Andrew said. On his front porch, Turner crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. 

“I told you I wouldn’t come after you unless you gave me a reason to. You left a scene with a bunch of perps full of stab wounds. Come on, Andrew.” 

“Anyone can hold a knife, Turner. ” 

“And everyone in this city knows how you can throw them. I know you think everyone at the precinct just sits on their hands all day, but most of them can do basic addition.” 

Detective Katelyn Turner was exhausted. Andrew Minyard, well-meaning bastard and perpetual pain in her ass, was wrong, as usual. Not the entire police department had been sitting on their hands while a serial burglar and rapist had their run of the city. She felt like she’d barely slept in a week, and she’d been so close to her warrant when the call had come in that someone had decided to go vigilante on her perps. She was glad that the Wilson family wasn’t harmed, of course, but now she had a bunch of stab victims on her hands rather than a solved crime, and her ex-fiance’s twin brother had practically signed his name on the wounds. Not her idea of a good start to the week.

“You should have called me. That was the agreement. I let you knock street thug heads together, but when you stumble across some big shit you call for backup. You are not a police officer, Andrew Minyard.” 

“Don’t I know it,” Andrew sneered. He waited to see if she had anything else to say for herself. “If you’re not going to arrest me, I should get some sleep before work. You know where to find me.” 

Katelyn wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like Eden’s, where Andrew kept bar when he wasn’t chucking knives into people she was trying to arrest. But he knew that. She shifted from foot to foot. “How’s Aaron?” she asked finally.

“As if you care.” 

She didn’t answer, but Andrew didn’t want her to. At one point, both of the people who loved Aaron Minyard most had been forced to choose between their lives, careers, and remaining tied to an addict. Andrew and Katelyn made different choices. She understood why Andrew made the choice that he had, but the understanding was not returned. Needless to say, they’d had this conversation before.

“We will find out in a few hours, won’t we? Check the usual places, if you can spare your precious time. Goodbye, Detective.” 

Entirely too little time later, there was a knock on the door again. Andrew, who really did need his sleep if he was going to deal with the kinds of assholes who went clubbing on Mondays, swung his door open ready to tell Turner if she was bothering him she’d better be arresting him this time, only to find it wasn’t Columbia’s pluckiest detective at all. It was Aaron, looking rather like a half-drowned kitten and twice as surly, and he wasn’t alone. Holding onto the scruff of his collar and looking for all the world like he’d marched him there all the way from downtown was someone Andrew wanted to see even less. 

“Andrew,” Kevin Day said. He shoved Aaron past him through the doorway. “I brought you something.” 

Andrew took a brief moment to look his brother up and down. No cuts or bruised that Andrew could see, but for someone who had been out of rehab for less than twelve hours he looked remarkably not-sober. Fantastic. “Go to bed,” he said. Aaron flipped him off, but it didn’t seem he’d thought of anything better to do, so he wandered away down the hall toward his room. 

Andrew turned back to Kevin. “So the prince leaves his palace. I assume you didn’t venture out into the common streets just to scrape Aaron out of a gutter. To what do we owe the honor?” 

“You need to come back to the Academy,” Kevin said. “I already called Renee, she’d getting everyone else together.” 

Andrew was proud to say that his patience for bullshit was pretty good these days, so he didn’t immediately slam the door in Kevin’s face. “The answer is no. You can leave now.”

“I really think-”

“I think you should listen to me,” there was a knife in Andrew’s hand before he quite realized he’d drawn it, pressed oh-so-gently to the skin of Kevin’s throat. Okay, so maybe his patience could still use some work. “I think I have made it very clear how I felt about the Academy. If you wanted to keep playing warrior of god, that was your choice. But I refuse to be dragged back into it, and I refuse to let you take advantage of Aaron while-”

“-Neil is back.” 

Andrew lowered the knife slowly. “What?” 

Kevin took a slow breath and a half step back. “Neil is back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I've said, update schedule for this fic, for the time being is "whenever I can squeeze working on it in." This is also the first time I'm actually posting as I write rather than staying ahead of myself so...we'll see how this goes. I'm really enjoying writing this so far, experimenting a bit with prose style and a broader, more narrative POV. I hope you enjoy reading it!
> 
> Let me know what you think! Comments are always greatly appreciated, or come find me on tumblr @a_case_for_wonder

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited to be writing this piece! I've been wanting to work on something that felt more like a true ensemble piece rather than something that was super romance-focused, and the Umbrella Academy is such a fun universe to play in! 
> 
> I promise absolutely nothing in terms of update schedule on this baby. FOXES Division is really my primary focus rn but this story is such a brain worm I'm sure I'll be working on it intermittently. 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr  @a-case-for-wonder! Let me know what you think or just say hey!! <3


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